Learning to love again
by Bertha Willis
Summary: Gilbert's heart had been broken, but a bit of good news helped him regain his strength. Can he find the confidence to ask again for Anne's hand? Filling in the gaps between the last two chapters of Anne of the Island.
1. Another revelation

_(Author's note: This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I'm a writer by trade but have moved into a new job that occasionally requires more creativity than my old one. I thought this might be fun practice and loved the stories I've read on the site. Let me know how I did. I hope to make this multiple chapters. I own no characters.)_

John Blythe stood in the kitchen, a small smile on his face. Oh, how good it felt to smile again. Only two days earlier he wondered if he would ever smile again. At that critical stage, uncertain whether his son — his only child — would live or die, he felt he aged 10 years at least.

But now, knowing the boy — boy he would be always despite his 24 years — was comfortably sitting up in his bed for the first time in weeks, John felt at least a few of those years shave off.

It was at that moment that his wife returned home, her first visit out of the house since the day she discovered her son's fever and pain. Seeing John's small smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. Heading out to the store had felt like the first time she left her son behind more than two decades earlier, the same misgivings of whether he would be alright without her nearby.

"How is he now?" she asked.

"Just took in the second helping of supper," he replied, the smiling growing a little at his wife's surprise.

"The doctor didn't think he'd get his appetite back for weeks. What in the world has gotten into him?" she exclaimed.

"Well, I believe he may have received some letters that were of interest to him," John replied, instantly noting his wife's annoyed countenance at his answer.

Gilbert's fever had broken only two nights prior. In the day that followed, his parents discussed, out of his hearing, how much contact they should allow him with the outside world. John was on the side of carefully limiting his consumption of anything upsetting until the boy regained his strength, but his wife was not comfortable with deceiving her son, whatever news may come.

Without saying it out loud, both knew what bad news they expected to come. For more than a year, Avonlea gossip had buzzed about Anne Shirley's rich, well-connected beau in Kingsport. Their engagement was imminent, the other returning Redmond students had said. And so the Blythes hemmed and hawed over what to do should an invitation to a wedding show up.

Gilbert hadn't said anything about it before the fever had set in. Of course, that was not unusual. He had never told his parents he had proposed to the girl at the end of their second year of college, had never told them about his heartbreak upon the constant rumors of her new romance. The first had arrived at their ears by way of the stories going through town, the second they surmised from the change in their boy.

Gilbert had gone off to college almost four years earlier a strong, ambitious young man. He returned at the end of the final term pale, thin and defeated, even with the buzz of a prestigious award and plans for medical school. They knew the reason. And the fever proved them right, as his delirious ramblings proved he had never gotten the red-haired girl out of his mind or heart.

It was with that in mind that John had opened up a few pieces of his son's mail that afternoon. The first was from Anne herself, a nice note wishing him well, thanking him for flowers he sent her for convocation and asking that he visit when he was well. While John assumed that would be enough to perk Gilbert up, he knew the second letter would do even more.

John didn't recognize the name of the writer, but from what he inferred she was a friend of Anne's. And she wanted Gilbert to know Anne wasn't marrying the man in Kingsport.

John had resealed the envelopes, and with a thankful heart, delivered them promptly to his son's room.

When he returned half an hour later, a spark that had been missing from his son's eyes for more than two years had returned. Gilbert asked his father to bring him something to eat, then complained that he was bored and asked if the doctor had told them when he could leave the house.

John had chuckled softly to himself as he closed the bedroom door as he went to fetch some food for the boy. He knew quite well where Gilbert would go when he first was allowed to escape the house.

Now, hours later, John could only smirk at his wife's glare.

"It seems that I didn't need to be so worried about news that might upset him. The girl's not going to be married, and she wants to see him," John explained.

He was more than pleased. Eleven years earlier, when a strange tale of the new girl smacking his son with a slate for teasing her had reached his ears, he had laughed heartily. The boy had been a bit vain, given the amount of female attention he had received in his 13 years. Nothing his father said about behaving like a gentleman had sunk in, and John had nearly given up the regular lectures on the subject.

Anne had accomplished in one thwack what John had failed in several years of pleading. From that day on, Gilbert was on his best behavior, at least where the fairer sex was concerned. Never much of a slacker anyway, he became an even more dedicated student. And there never was any doubt as to where the sudden motivation had come.

And when Gilbert returned that night six years earlier and recounted that he had been walking Anne home after she finally accepted his long-proffered offer of friendship, John got his first glimpse at the spark in his son's hazel eyes. The boy was smitten from that first long talk with the girl, and his obvious feelings for her continued to grow as he got to know her.

John, like most others in Avonlea, had believed the two would return from college at some point and announce their engagement. Instead, his son had returned with a broken heart.

While John still held out hope that Anne would come around, knowing his son well enough to know that he wasn't going to be quick to jump to just any other girl, his wife had written off the situation almost as soon as the rumors of the refused proposal made its way to her.

It wasn't that she didn't like the girl. Quite to the contrary in fact, she had so set her heart on having her as a daughter-in-law that her displeasure was only second to her son's. Anne's fanciful, lighthearted ways — along with the happiness she seemed to bring to Gilbert — had filled the woman's heart with joy. The news that the girl had refused to enter their family had been a bitter disappointment, one that she wasn't sure she wanted to revisit. But still, news that the girl wasn't marrying another man certainly was better news for Gilbert's sake than if she was.

As his parents discussed the matter in the kitchen, Gilbert, having finished the food his father brought him, unfolded and read for at least the fifth time the two letters. Either would have been welcome. Upon seeing Anne's familiar handwriting, his heart beat faster and his face flushed. The letter she sent really wasn't much more than a friendly get-well note, though to know that she still cared, even if it was only in a friendly way, had been welcome information.

But when taken in combination with Phil's letter, the mail had most certainly fueled a previously missing desire in Gilbert to get better.

From the moment he had returned from Redmond, even before the illness debilitated him, Gilbert had felt like giving up. On school, on life, anything. Certainly taking the Cooper Prize had felt like a worthy accomplishment, and medical school had been his dream for years. But what was a successful career without the one he desired most beside him? What was a future without the person with whom he wanted to share it?

Even after Anne had told him he could never love her, he hadn't given up hope. He thought there was still a chance for him, though it might take time. Once word of her infatuation with Royal Gardner had reached him, he had felt like a weight was tied around his stomach, dragging him down and taking all his dreams for the future with him.

The only moments in the past year and a half where he had felt like maybe life was worth living was when some semblance of their old friendship returned as he walked with Anne after Diana and Fred's wedding and when he saw Anne carrying his flowers on the stage at convocation. But two moments were hardly enough to pull him out of the depths of despair. Because, yes, even in his moments of darkness, he still could think of nothing else to use to describe his feelings to himself but that which Anne would use herself.

As the fever took hold, part of him wondered what the point of getting better would be, after all, without Anne in his life.

So Phil's letter gave him hope he didn't think he'd ever get again.

"Dear Gilbert,

My inability to make decisions has always been a sore spot for me. Time after time in my life, I've thought I felt one way only to change with the wind. To help me overcome my deficiency, my husband has given me a rule of considering how I would feel about my decision when I'm 80.

For about one month, I've pondered whether to send you this letter, finally deciding that to not send it could lead to regret when I reach my ninth decade. Since I wouldn't want that, I'll get to the point.

I'm sure you couldn't help but hear word around Redmond that Anne was on the verge of being engaged, just as she most certainly didn't escape hearing of your supposed engagement. I want you to know that her engagement is no more real than yours. I should make my point clear: Anne is not going to marry Royal Gardner, not now or ever.

Now for why I'm telling you this, other than my utter joy of telling a good tale. I was the first person Anne spoke to after you proposed to her. I've never seen anyone as distraught and heartbroken as she was that afternoon. She swore she didn't have feelings of that type for you, but it was always clear to me that she did and hadn't realized it. When I discussed the dissolution of her relationship with Roy, the thing that stuck in my head — and forced me to write this letter — was her remark that she wanted someone who belongs in her life. She likely didn't even realize the implication of that statement at the time, but I did: on some level, she realizes you belong in her life. I know she does.

Best of luck to you, Gilbert.

Sincerely,

Phil (Gordon) Blake"

Gilbert folded the letter carefully, placed it back in its envelope and put it in his drawer. Then, clutching the note from Anne against his chest, he closed his eyes and smiled. The future wasn't looking quite so bad anymore.


	2. Dreams for tomorrow

_(A.N.: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. They propelled this little idea forward. All characters belong to LMM. This is just my little idea of what happened between the final two chapters of Anne of the Island.)_

**Chapter 2: Dreams for tomorrow**

At one time, the sight of an auburn haired young woman dancing through the Green Gables garden would not have raised any eyebrows. It had, for awhile, become more the rule than the exception.

But for the past two years, even the most casual of observers noticed Anne Shirley no longer seemed to soar to the highest heights nor crash to the deepest depths. To most people, this was attributed to the fact that she had begun finally to grow up.

Closer observers, though, worried about the change in the girl. Something seemed to have clouded her sunny disposition.

However, only the very shrewdest of onlookers had tied the change that caused Anne to tread the earth rather than soar to the heavens to the fact that a certain boy with brown curly hair and hazel eyes who had once frequented the green-gabled house no longer came around.

Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel Lynde, being just such keen observers of the inner workings of Anne, had fretted frequently out of her hearing on the topic. No matter how often Anne said all was well and no matter how often exotic flowers and lines of poetry had arrived for her from a mysterious sender in Kingsport the previous summer, the venerable ladies despaired over the missing something in the girl's smile. Something must have gone very wrong in the universe to drive Gilbert Blythe away, but they knew Anne would never discuss the matter with them.

And since Anne's return to Avonlea after she received her long-desired B.A., she seemed to have sunk even deeper. Not that she ever said so. She had always worn her feelings on her sleeve before, and having them tucked away in a pocket was enough for those closest to her to know she wasn't quite herself anymore. She was quieter, prose replacing the poetry that had always flowed through her veins. Those keen observers also knew that the absence of those flowers likely had little to do with the change.

So the vision of Anne skipping and twirling into the kitchen early one morning should have been a welcome sight to the calmer inhabitants of the house. Instead, it made Marilla and Mrs. Lynde question whether Anne was quite in her right mind — a question they had always pondered silently anyway.

Only the night before they had watched as Anne fell apart right before their eyes at the news that Gilbert was deathly ill. Even if they hadn't suspected Anne's true feelings for the boy before — which they certainly had — they would have realized them then. Anne's face never went as white at the news that Ruby Gillis was dying, nor had the two ladies ever heard heartbreaking sobs come from the east gable when that dear friend passed on. Even Matthew's death had not inspired that strange tone in her voice.

To see Anne, then, float into the house the next morning, still wearing the same clothes in which she had arrived home from Echo Lodge in the July storm of the previous evening, was more than disconcerting to Marilla and Mrs. Lynde.

"Anne, are you feeling quite well? Where have you been?" Marilla asked, more gentle questions than she would have asked had she not been so worried about her girl's mental state.

"I'm quite well, dearest of Marillas. I've been out enjoying this beautiful morning. Nothing is quite as lovely in the world as the morning after a storm."

"Anne, have you lost your mind? After the way you carried on last night when you heard about Gilbert, I wondered if you would go stark, raving mad, and now I see I was right," said Mrs. Lynde, never one to concern herself with tact or caution.

Anne smiled, her face reddening as she arranged a bouquet of flowers at the table.

"I am quite right in my mind, Mrs. Lynde. And yes, the news shocked me horribly last night. But, in my travels this morning, I learned Gilbert is going to be fine. Pacifique Buote — George Fletcher's hired man, you know — told me that this morning when he was on his way by."

Marilla breathed a sigh of relief, for both Gilbert's sake and Anne's. She barely slept all night in worry for her girl and what losing Gilbert would mean to her.

But the relief was deepest for Anne, for whom a shaft of light had illuminated the rose of love through that dark night. She knew the rose would not wither and die but would grow and fuel the dreams of all her tomorrows.

…

Nearly a week had passed since that morning, a week in which Anne seemed always to sing, or at the very least hum, through her little daily duties, then lose herself to the beauty of the summer sunshine in all her old haunts. Neither Marilla nor Mrs. Lynde tried to bring her back to the ground, smiling and shaking their heads knowingly as she skipped off in the afternoons.

Anne could feel the change in herself even more acutely than those who watched her. The loneliness and emptiness that had filled her when she returned from Kingsport was no more. Instead, she felt light and young and full of dreams. She found little inspirations of fancy springing to her pen again, and she had packaged off a little packet of sketches for editors' consideration for the first time in months. The disgust she carried for herself over Roy Gardner melted away, leaving in place a peace and freedom that came with knowing she had been quite right to refuse him.

She visited Diana and little Fred often, no longer feeling quite as left behind and out of place, instead finding herself dreaming exquisite little dreams that had never fully formed before.

And mostly, Anne dreamed about the day when Gilbert would be well enough to venture out again. She never wondered if he would come see her. She was quite certain he would. Of course, she had nothing to form that thought but the feeling in her heart, for she hadn't seen him or heard from him since she received his flowers for convocation. She had hastily sent a little note that ecstatic morning when she learned he was going to live, then floated around home, waiting for things to happen.

On this particular day, Marilla and Mrs. Lynde were away at a Ladies Aid event, and Davy and Dora, the Green Gables twins, were with their respective friends. So after Anne finished her chores, she took herself outside to read in the shade of a tree and enjoy the breeze breaking up the heat of the early August sun.

The book failed to hold her attention for long, eventually sliding from her hands. She reclined against the old apple tree, her lips clasped tightly and her eyes gazing off into the distance.

But her daydreams this day did not take the shape of fairies or dryads, and there certainly were no dark, melancholy men in her house o' dreams.

Instead, Anne was replaying all the times in her mind in which she _should_ have known she was in love with Gilbert Blythe. All their long talks and laughs over their studies. The way she flushed under his gaze after Miss Lavendar's wedding and a hundred times thereafter. How jealous she was of any other girl with whom he spent time. The way she would compare any disagreeable thing about Roy to pleasant ones about Gilbert. How much she missed the letters that never came those two summers he spent in Kingsport. Her impassioned reaction to Phil'a assertion that he was engaged to Christine Stuart. How she could talk to him like she could talk to no one else, never worrying he would misunderstand her or think her mad.

Anne began to feel quite ridiculous in her ruminations. Her imagination had once been her greatest asset, a way to seek the sun in the darkest of places. How had she allowed it to block out the light of love that had begun to form in her heart so long ago?

Unconsciously, her right hand began fiddling with the little pink heart at the hollow of her throat as she imagined what it would be like to hear Gilbert's voice again. She was so deep in her quiet contemplations that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her.

Then, the very voice she had been hoping to hear pulled her out of her reverie.

"Hello, Anne."


	3. The first visit

_(A.N.: Thank you all again for such kind reviews. I'm glad I wasn't the only one to wonder how things progressed between those blasted chapters! Now that we know a little about what Anne and Gilbert have been thinking, it's time to let them see each other.)_

**Chapter 3: The first visit**

The day after the blessed letters from Phil and Anne arrived, the trained nurse was dismissed from her duties. The day after that, the doctor declared Gilbert's recovery the most amazing he'd seen. People don't just move on days after a bout of typhoid, especially one that came that close to accomplishing its dark aim. But there he was, sitting up in bed, searching for something to occupy his time.

By the time July turned to August, he had convinced first the doctor, then his father and finally his mother that he was feeling quite well enough to leave the house. John Blythe could only chuckle when his son told him he planned to go for a walk. He didn't ask Gilbert where he was going; he didn't need to ask, either.

Gilbert found himself moving much slower than he remembered ever walking before as he headed for Green Gables. As he had reclined in bed, awaiting the moment he could leave it, he hadn't known he would feel this tired once he escaped those confines. But weeks of fighting the fever had taken far more out of him than he had realized, and more than once he considered turning back.

But it was more than just fatigue that made him contemplate stopping his first excursion before it began. Phil's letter had at first seemed like a certain sign that he could win his long-sought Anne at last, but with dozens of subsequent readings, doubts began to creep into his mind. No matter how glad he was that she wasn't going to marry Gardner, he couldn't dismiss the memory of Anne telling him on that horrible day at Patty's Place that she could never care for him as anything other than a friend. And that was before Gardner was on the scene at all! There were no guarantees that he wasn't going to get his heart broken again.

But on he walked. If the preceding two years had taught him nothing, it was that having Anne in his life as only a friend was better than not having her at all.

…

As he approached Green Gables, Gilbert caught sight of the ruddy tresses that captivated him, pressed up against a tree. He stopped and gazed at her. Anne looked even lovelier than he had remembered. Half of her hair was up, but the rest of her soft red curls cascaded over her shoulders. Her shining gray-green eyes were looking off into the distance, reminding him of the fateful day of their first meeting. He tried to think of something clever to say but his mind was blank at the sight of her.

"Hello, Anne."

Anne shot up at the sound of his voice. Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him as if there was something she meant to say but couldn't form the words. After a moment, she walked toward him, offering her outstretched hands.

Gilbert took her hands in his readily. He had few memories in which she had sought contact with him. In most of his recollections, she would shrink back from even the most innocent touch.

She gazed at him, her chin quivering slightly.

"I can't believe you're here," Anne said, her voice barely a whisper. She swallowed hard. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"All I said was 'hello,'" Gilbert teased.

"You know what I mean. Are you quite well enough to be out? Does the doctor know?"

"Oh, I shimmied down the drain pipe when no one was looking," he said, gazing into her upturned face and grinning. His eyes wandered to the little pink heart at her throat. He caught his breath at the realization that she was wearing the necklace he had sent her at Christmas.

Anne noticed where his attention had gone and flushed a deep red. Somewhere amidst her prayers and tears the night she had returned from Echo Lodge, her trembling fingers had placed the necklace around her throat. It hadn't come off since. She had felt comforted by the constant reminder of him against her skin.

"Come, sit down. I'm sure you need a rest after your walk, even if you were allowed out," Anne said, an attempt at distraction. She let go of one of his hands but still clutched the other as she led him to the porch.

Gilbert felt dazed, as if he was back in one of his fever-induced delusions. Anne, holding his hand? Wearing his necklace? He was certain she had to hear his heart pounding in his chest.

He sat down, as she directed, on the seat on the porch where they had so often sat over their studies and discussions and debates. Anne went inside to find them something to drink, leaving him to try to make sense of his thoughts.

…

Alone in the kitchen, Anne tried to gather her thoughts. Easier said than done. She could scarcely even catch her breath. She felt as if a thousand butterflies were fluttering about in her spine and stomach.

So this was how it felt to be in love, she thought. It was everything she had ever imagined but far more maddening. How was she supposed to speak normally to Gilbert with this nervous, trembling feeling over taking her body? How would she find anything to say to him when all she could think was how much she wanted to run her fingers through his brown curls and lose herself in those sparkling hazel eyes? And his lips — so soft and pink and … and … _and kissable_! She was certain that thought hadn't crossed her mind before.

But! Yes, yes it had. Probably more than once. Memories of thoughts and feelings she hadn't even recognized began to creep into her consciousness.

They had been sitting out a dance together at a Redmond reception, and he went outside with her to get some air. The cool night air and the twinkling stars ahead had brought a thought to her lips.

"What a shame to hold a dance inside on a night like tonight! The stars seem to have been made just for dancers to twirl beneath them."

With an exaggerated bow, Gilbert had asked her to dance. Laughing, she accepted. He had twirled her around in the same overly dramatic manner until the music filtering through the night air from inside the hall faded. Then he had pulled her back toward himself and looked down into her eyes.

For just a moment, Anne had thought he was going to kiss her. And for a fleeting second — she could admit it now — she had wanted him to kiss her. Of course, after the fact she had wished he could just be more _sensible_.

Replaying the dance in her mind, Anne again cursed herself for her blindness. How had she not realized she loved him when she got that delightful crinkly feeling all over as he held her in his arms that night? And of course, Gilbert had seen it; it wasn't long after that he proposed to her.

She tried to push the memory out of her mind and arranged some glasses on a tray.

…

Anne returned, lemonade in hand. As her left hand passed him a glass, Gilbert noticed that, true to Phil's word, there was no ring on her finger.

She sat down beside him and smiled.

"Really, how are you? I never expected to see you so soon," she said.

"Oh, I'm quite well. Why, it would take far more than a trifle like typhoid to take me down," he said, smiling as she laughed and rolled her eyes. "The doctor says I'm doing better than he expected, but I've not quite regained my strength. It was quite the struggle just to make it this far."

"I'm glad you came," she said softly, her gray eyes gazing into his hazel ones.

"Yes, well, you asked me to," he said.

"So I did," she said quietly.

Gilbert had never seen her so pensive and quiet. He yearned to hear her chatter on as he was used to her doing, but there was something in the way she was looking at him that he certainly didn't mind seeing.

"I suppose you'll begin your medical course next month?" Anne asked finally, breaking a silence that lasted only seconds but felt to her to have lasted an hour.

"As long as my strength returns, yes. I don't want to put it off. Three years will be long enough without delaying it another year," he answered. "What are your plans?"

"I'm going to be the principal at Summerside High School. The term starts in the middle of September. I'm quite looking forward to it, other than that I again will have to face my fears of Euclid," she answered. "I've been studying geometry as often as I can stand to try to feel a little more competent. My aim is to avoid having my students think me a fool."

"You're no one's fool, Anne. Remember, '_The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.'*_ Everyone has strengths and weaknesses."

"And what, pray tell, is your weakness, Gilbert?" Anne asked earnestly. "Even Achilles had his heel, but I don't recall you struggling with anything."

Gilbert looked down at his hands for a moment, searching for an answer. Did she not realize his greatest weakness? The only thing he had failed at was the only thing that really mattered to him. He couldn't tell her that, at least not until he had more time to make sure he wasn't going to get his heart stepped on again. So instead, he just smiled at her.

"Perhaps I'm just not as dramatic about my deficiencies. But, you know, if you had been willing to speak to me back when we first studied geometry, I could have been of some assistance."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm such a dunce at it that no one could help."

"Well, you don't know until you try. I am at your disposal."

Anne retreated back into the kitchen and returned with a battered copy of Euclid and opened it on her lap to show him where her confusions began.

Gilbert pulled the book toward him to get a better look at what she was pointing to, and it came to rest half on his leg and half on hers. Had she ever been this close to him for this long? Certainly Anne could not remember feeling the pleasant warm feeling that spread through her arm each time his brushed against her. She knew nothing he explained to her would last as long as the memory of how it felt to be so near to him.

Before either realized it an hour had passed — an hour in which the old book on their laps was forgotten as often as remembered as they talked and laughed and reminisced as of old.

"I suppose I should be heading home before Mother gets too worried," Gilbert finally said reluctantly.

As he stood to go, Anne rose, too. "I was planning to go to the cemetery tonight. I'll walk with you."

He waited as she gathered a bouquet from the garden to take with her, then they set off down the old familiar path they had traveled so many times before.

"So how else have you been spending your summer, Anne?" Gilbert asked. "I assume it hasn't been all geometry."

"Oh, it hasn't been quite that dull, I suppose. I had Phil's wedding and Jane's wedding, and I spent a few weeks at Echo Lodge. And, of course, I go see little Fred every chance I get."

Gilbert smiled, knowing Anne's love of children. "I heard Diana had a little boy."

"You haven't seen him?"

"No, I'm afraid even before the fever set in I hadn't been feeling like getting out much," Gilbert answered.

"I'm going there for tea tomorrow. You must come with me! I know Diana and Fred would love to see you. And little Fred is really a sweet little boy, though I can never get over the feeling that I'm holding a miniature version of his father."

Gilbert laughed, trying to picture a tiny version of his childhood friend.

"I would love to go, but I'm not sure I can make the walk," he said. "Perhaps I can pick you up in the carriage?"

"That sounds wonderful," she exclaimed.

They had stopped at the Blythe gate and made their plans before Anne continued on to the cemetery.

Gilbert walked to the house, a little sturdier than he had walked out of it earlier that afternoon. His father, who had seen the dreamy look on his son's face after he bid Anne farewell at the gate, tried to hide a smile as Gilbert walked in the door.

"Well, how was it getting out of the house?"

"It was a nice change," Gilbert said, thinking of the way Anne had grasped his hand and the look in her eyes whenever he would meet her gaze. "A very nice change."

…

Anne felt somewhat ridiculous as she walked home. Ever since she made her realization that she loved Gilbert, she had imagined her first meeting with him. She would rush to him, throw her arms around him and tell him how sorry she was, how much she loved him.

She knew she wouldn't do that in real life, but somehow her imagination never got around to showing her anything else. It certainly never showed them studying geometry together! Must reality always thwart her romantic musings?

And how uneasy she must have seemed when he first arrived! Anne knew quite well Gilbert's impression of the nervous, flirty girls who had always tried to catch his eye. He had told her as much over the years. And yet there she sat, without an interesting thing to say except to complain about geometry!

Christine Stuart would have had something interesting to say to him, Anne thought ruefully. But, no, that was not true. Christine would merely sit there, beautiful as ever, and allow him to admire her. Christine was probably who he wished he had been able to visit.

Whatever had made her think Gilbert was not in love with Christine Stuart? Of course he was. He probably was engaged to her, after all. Hadn't Phil believed it to be true? Anne had lost her chance and now would have to reconcile herself to being just a chum, with nothing more interesting to do with him than study angles and theorems!

But he had been in love with her once, or so he had said. As long as long as the summer lasted, maybe she still had a chance. For he wasn't going tomorrow to visit their childhood friends with Christine Stuart, but with her. At least it would be better than geometry!

_*From Shakespeare's "As You Like It."_


	4. Tea

_(Thank you once again for all the lovely reviews. I'm so happy you're enjoying this. I hope I can keep it going. Thanks especially for L.M. Montgomery for her lovely characters.)_

__**Chapter 4: Tea**

Marilla Cuthbert climbed the steps and stood before the closed door to the east gable room. Most of the time, she would leave the girl inside to her own devices, but she hadn't seemed quite herself the night before, and now she was certain to be late to tea at the Wrights. That wasn't like her; usually Anne would flutter out of the house hours early for a chance to spend time with Diana.

"Anne, are you quite alright? You certainly won't make it to Diana's in time for tea if you don't leave soon," Marilla said, her thin hand rapping at the door.

The door opened.

"I'm not walking, so I have some time still," Anne answered.

"Not walking? I suppose you plan to fly," Marilla responded sarcastically. Really, sometimes it was easier to get sense out of a child than Anne.

"No, I … I'm … umm … Gilbert is giving me a ride. He was by yesterday, and I invited him to come with me since he hasn't met little Fred yet."

Marilla looked sharply at the flustered young woman before her. Everything made a little more sense now — Anne's distraction at supper last night, her apparent careful manner of dressing today.

"Ah. And how is he?"

"How is … what," Anne murmured distractedly as she fussed with her hair. "Oh, um, well, he said he's getting better but will be awhile in getting his strength back."

"Well that's good. I'll leave you be. I never knew you to concern yourself so with your looks before going to see Diana," Marilla said, retreating back down the stairs.

If Anne heard the last bit, she ignored it. Or, more likely, her thoughts were too caught up in other things. Trying one after another manner of arranging her hair. Deciding what to wear.

Should it be a green dress? Gilbert had once told her she looked especially well in green. Or was that too obvious?

She had settled on a cream blouse with a brown skirt. Now as to the necklace. He most certainly had noticed it the day before. If she wore it again, would she appear to be trying to tell him something? But wasn't she alright with him knowing what that something was? Her thoughts were quite driving her mad.

Anne finally descended the stairs with a few minutes to spare before Gilbert would arrive. The pink heart necklace remained snug against the white skin of her throat. It was pretty, even if it didn't exactly go with her hair, so wasn't that as good of reason as any to continue wearing?

And if Gilbert did surmise that there was more to it than that, well, so be it — Christine Stuart or no Christine Stuart, Anne thought finally.

…

Anne wandered nervously around the kitchen, stopping regularly to glance out the window. She would have waited outside, but Mrs. Lynde was sitting on the porch. The last thing Anne wanted in her bewildered state of mind was the kind of questioning that dear woman was likely to give her.

Finally — after what felt like forever but was actually at the exact time Gilbert had said he'd be there — Anne saw him pull up before the gate. She swept herself quickly out the door and through the yard as to avoid the inquisition she knew would be coming.

But Mrs. Lynde wasn't the only one waiting to pounce. A blonde head popped out of the trees.

"Say, Gilbert, I'm awful glad to see you're alright. Why, Anne looked just terrible when I told her you were dying. I didn't think she'd come out of her room again," Davy said.

Gilbert watched Anne's face become nearly the same color as her hair as she caught the boy's comment.

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we, lad?" Gilbert said, struggling not to smile at Anne's apparent outrage. Davy's impishness reminded him of his own at that age. After all, he hadn't been much older when his impulsiveness at the sight of a certain set of red braids had set off a chain of events that forever changed the course of his life.

Anne took the hand Gilbert offered her as assistance in climbing into the buggy. Was it just his imagination or had she kept hold of his hand a little longer than she would have done of old?

Gilbert contemplated asking Anne about Davy's comment but thought better of it. Instead, they made pleasant small talk. Anne found herself having an easier time speaking than the previous day, and Gilbert reveled in the sweet sound of her voice as she rambled. He fervently wished, as the Wright farm came into view, that the drive was a longer one.

…

Anne peaked her head into the little farm house.

"Hello," she called as she made her way inside. Kindred spirits don't have to both knocking at the doors of other kindred spirits, she and Diana always had reasoned.

Diana appeared out of the door to the kitchen, holding a pudgy little boy who was happily occupied in trying to eat his fist.

"Anne, you're just in time! I desperately need someone to hold onto little Fred so I can finish getting the tea ready. He cries whenever I put him down."

"Oh, hims wouldn't tink of crying, would oo," she crooned as she took him from Diana. She looked back to her friend. "I hope you don't mind, I brought a guest with me."

"You did? Who?" Diana asked.

"Gilbert."  
Diana could see the slight flush on her friend's cheeks. Before she could probe into the matter, Gilbert came in the door.

"Gilbert, how are you? I'm so glad you came, and I know Fred will be, too," Diana said. "I must go finish up in the kitchen."

Anne had taken little Fred and sat on the sofa. She settled him into her lap, his plump little arms and legs flailing about happily.

"Come, meet him," she ordered.

Gilbert gladly accepted the invitation. He positioned himself as close to Anne as he reasonably could — better to get to know the boy she cradled, he rationalized — his right arm resting against the back of the sofa, his torso twisted slightly so he could offer a finger of his left hand to the child.

"A happy little kiddo," he said smiling. "And certainly no doubt to his paternity, as you mentioned. He's the very image of Fred."

"Yes, but I do believe he has Diana's eyes, so I try to focus on that and it doesn't seem so absurd to be cuddling him so. And hims certainly is tweet, isn't oo," Anne said.

Gilbert laughed as he gazed at the picture before him. How perfect and right it felt to be sitting here with Anne, an infant cooing in her lap. It took all of his willpower not to slip his arm down around her and pull her closer.

"I'm not sure I've ever heard that language you're speaking," he teased.

"Oh, I don't know exactly what it is. It just always seems to be the right way to talk to cuddawy widdle ones," she said, tickling little Fred's tummy. She looked up and met Gilbert's gaze, the butterflies from the day before returning to her stomach.

"Ah. So either I've grown out of it long ago or I've never known it," Gilbert said. "I haven't spent a lot of time around babies. I've never even held one."

"Oh, we can't have that!" Anne slipped her hands under the infant's shoulders, supporting his chubby head with her slender fingers. "If you're going to be a doctor, you certainly need to learn how to hold a baby!"

Gently, she picked up the little boy and leaned toward Gilbert, placing the baby against the crook of his left elbow.

"There," Anne said. "See, you're a natural."

Little Fred grinned toothlessly and cooed up at Gilbert, who was almost oblivious to the child in his arm. Anne was still leaning over him, their arms touching slightly. His breaths came faster as he tried to will himself not to move, not to let the moment end.

Diana chose that moment to reappear from the kitchen, much to his chagrin. She watched the display in her parlor before interrupting.

"Anne, since Fred is in such good hands, would you mind helping me in the kitchen?" she asked.

"Of course," Anne smiled regretfully, rising and walking toward the kitchen, with one last glance at Gilbert.

…

"So …" Diana began, watching Anne from the corner of her eye. "Have you been seeing a lot of him?"

Anne tried to concentrate on setting the table.

"Who?"

"Who? Anne Shirley, I could shake you! Gilbert, of course," Diana said in exasperation.

Anne wouldn't meet her gaze, concentrating on the placing of forks and spoons and knives as if her life depended on their perfect arrangement.

"No, he just came by yesterday, and then I asked him if he wanted to come with me today, since he hadn't seen little Fred yet."

Diana rolled her eyes slightly. How many times over the years the question she was about to ask? She had lost count.

"Please, please don't be vexed by my asking Anne, but … you would tell me if …" Diana didn't finish her thought as Anne finally looked up, distress shining through her gray-green eyes.

"I love him," she whispered, her eyes closing as she gripped the chair in front of her. "I … I always have. I just didn't know. I didn't realize it until I thought he was dying. And, and, and it's probably too late."

Diana rushed to her friend's side. "Oh, Anne, I'm so glad to hear you say that! I always thought you did, or even if you didn't, that it was a shame, because you're so perfect together. And when I saw you there together on the sofa, well, I hoped something had changed. But, whatever do you mean, it's too late?"

"He's engaged. At least, I think he might be. Everyone at Redmond said so. And even if he's not, I'm sure he doesn't care for me at all like _that_ anymore. I had my chance and I … I … Oh, Diana, why must I always make such a mess of things!" Tears slid down her cheeks, her clenched teeth the only thing keeping in her sobs.

"Did _he_ tell you he was engaged? Because, well, the way he was looking at you, Anne, it's … it's the way he always has — like you're the only person he sees," Diana said gently, putting her arm around Anne's shaking shoulders.

"No, he hasn't. And I can't ask. I don't want him to see how foolish I am."

"Do you want me to ask?"

"No! Diana, you can't!"

"Fine. But, Anne, do you think if he were engaged to another woman, he would spend his first two days out of the house after nearly dying with you?"

"Oh, I suppose he might. What difference would it make? He sees me only as a friend, just like I told him he should!"

"Darling, everything will be fine. I know it," Diane said comfortingly. "And everything is ready for tea now. Are you going to be alright?"

Anne wiped her eyes and straightened herself up. "Yes, I'm fine. But, if he asks, you made me slice onions in here."

Diana laughed and squeezed Anne's hand as they walked back to the parlor, where Fred had joined Gilbert and little Fred.

…

Anne found that she could push her unsettlingly thoughts and worries out of her mind, and she enjoyed herself immensely as the four old friends talked and laughed around the table. How could she not? There were so many good memories to relive and share. From school to the A.V.I.S. to various parties and concerts, there was no end to the shared recollections.

"Anne, remember the time you fell through the roof at the Copp duckhouse?" Diana asked.

Anne's face turned nearly as red as it had when Davy's remarks earlier that day.

"Yes, but … I don't believe I've told anyone else that story. Other than Aunt Josephine, of course," she replied.

"Did I ever tell you that the last time I visited her before she died, she just laughed and laughed over the memory of our old Story Club stories, even as frail as she was then. 'Oh, that Anne-girl,' was all she could say," Diana said.

"Anne-girl?" Gilbert said quizzically.

"Mmmhmm, that's what Aunt Josephine always called me. I'm not sure why," Anne answered.

"I like it."

"Yes, well, I've been called worse," Anne grinned.

Gilbert laughed. He couldn't recall her ever referencing _that_ day to him before. The day she'd been forced to sit with him had come up, though never by her. But the day they'd met always seemed off limits, and he knew better than to risk her temper.

They stayed there, talking and laughing, until Fred finally said he needed to get back to work and little Fred showed that he had had enough company for one day.

Anne bent over the baby's cradle to say goodbye. She stood up in time to see Fred slide up behind Diana, put his hands on her waist and kiss her goodbye.

For the first time, she realized how much she wanted that — that sure, sweet, easy love her friend had found. Her eyes flickered involuntarily to Gilbert, whose eyes already were focused on her. She felt her cheeks growing hot yet again and smiled slightly.

…

"Thank you for inviting me to go with you," Gilbert said glancing at Anne in the buggy. "I feel almost out of place in Avonlea. It's been three years since I spent a summer here, and what with being laid up most of this summer, I haven't made much headway in reacquainting myself with home. And even in Kingsport I spent so much time on my studies that I had begun to feel like a bit of a pariah."

"Well, I certainly have missed having you around," Anne said.

Gilbert looked away. "You always seemed to be enjoying yourself whenever I saw you," he said quietly.

Anne's jaw dropped dropped slightly. She had never considered before what it must have been like for Gilbert to see her on Roy's arm. As hard as it had been for her to see Gilbert with Christine — even before she realized why exactly that was — it had to have been harder still for him. She bit her lip and stared out into the distance.

"I'm sorry, Anne, I … I shouldn't have said that," Gilbert said finally.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Anne said, forcing herself to look at him. "I wish I could go back in time …"

She left the thought unfinished. To finish it would be to dampen his joy if he was engaged to Christine and to embarrass herself more than she already had in any case.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence — not an angry silence but certainly an uncomfortable one. Both were relieved to reach the Green Gables gate.

"Thank you, again, for letting me tag along," Gilbert said as he helped her down.

"Thank you for coming," Anne replied.

"Goodbye, Anne."

"Goodbye."

She watched until the buggy disappeared beyond a hill and wondered if she'd ever get another opportunity to spend an afternoon with Gilbert. She walked slowly to the house, thankful at least to see that Mrs. Lynde hadn't been waiting on the porch for her. The thought of facing her at all was far from inviting. So instead of going in, Anne slipped away down Lover's Lane to be alone with her thoughts.


	5. Friends

_(Thank you so much for the reviews and for reading so far. I think the pace will pick up a little after this chapter. A big thank you to Katherine Brooke, whose comment helped me shape this chapter. And thanks always to L.M. Montgomery for giving us these lovely characters.)_

**Chapter 5: Friends**

The sun glistened through the maples in Lover's Lane, making the path as much a fairyland as ever it had been. But it held no allure for Anne Shirley, who in bestowing such a name on it had imagined the romance of a pair strolling through the lane sharing in their adoration of each other. The thought brought no pleasure in her current frame of mind.

So she fled to the Haunted Woods, where she might be among the ghosts of yesterday in the shade of the stately pines and beeches. She wandered, alone in her thoughts, until the heat of the August sun had cooled to warm and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves.

Anne felt drawn to the dark paths in the old grove. They matched her future, she thought woefully — dark and forgotten.

The establishment of the woods as being haunted had been the first time Anne's vivid imagination had gone so far wrong. She could still remember her fright at having to pass through them at night after the she'd conjured up the ghosts that dwelled there. She had vowed never to let her imagination run away with her like that again.

It felt right to flee to the old haunt now, upon realizing again the damage caused by the imagery of her mind. But she couldn't undo the harm this time by dashing through the woods and seeing that there were no ghosts. Matters of the heart are not so easily fixed.

The moment Anne realized her folly in clinging to her imaginary visions of love, when Roy Gardner asked for her hand in the pavilion in the park, she felt sorrow. Sorrow for Roy, who had had every reason to believe she had been in love with him. Sorrow for herself, at having so fooled her mind into believing the same.

But it took Gilbert's comment on the way back to Green Gables to understand he was the person she had most hurt by imagining she was in love with Roy.

How must it have felt to hear her say she didn't love him — could never love him like he wanted her to — then see her fawning over another man? Was it possible he could ever truly forgive her? Ever truly love her again?

Anne wandered until she looked up and saw the little apple tree Gilbert had shown her the night before they left for Redmond. How he had cheered her that night in her anxiety about leaving for college! The memories of that pleasant night — how had she not recognized how she felt about him when she felt that little gush of joy at seeing him approach Green Gables! — made her more miserable still. Not only had she missed her chance at true love, but she had lost one of her best friends in the process.

Anne sat down on the fallen tree, the one which Gilbert had dubbed her "woodland throne" on that long ago night, and wept. Wept for her mistakes, for her future, for the hurt she had inflicted on Gilbert.

…

It had taken some convincing for Gilbert's mother to allow him out of the house again after supper. He had returned from tea at the Wrights looking so forlorn that she was certain the state of his health was at risk.

The fresh evening air was what he needed, he told her. She had consented, hinting darkly that he may be confined to the house the next day if he did not return in good time.

Idle wandering was not Gilbert's intention. He knew where he was going — knew where Anne would have gone.

The look on her face as she stared off into the distance after his ill-conceived comment was one of the most sorrowful he'd seen. The only other times he'd seen that look was at Matthew Cuthbert's funeral — before they were even friends — and the afternoon he had proposed to her.

As he walked toward the woods, he reflected on what he had said to her. "You always seemed to be enjoying yourself whenever I saw you." What in the world had made him say that? The second it left his lips he expected the onset of another five-year cold spell from Anne. But instead of the angry flash he expected out of her gray-green eyes, he saw distress and discomfort.

As he made his way to their apple tree — so far as he knew they alone knew it was there — he heard her gentle sobbing. Knowing he was the reason behind her tears felt like a knife to his heart.

He had hurt her, and he needed to make sure she was alright.

…

Anne found her weeping wasn't helping. She had thought maybe a good cry would do her mind good. But instead she grew more and more miserable, more and more hopeless and alone.

Then the sound of a twig snapping as if under someone's foot shook her out of her misery. There was only one person who would come here, she was almost certain.

She looked up a little and saw him, tall and broad shouldered as ever, though his frame was far thinner than it used to be, a product of the typhoid he had narrowly escaped. His handsome face, too, was thinner, and now his hazel eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, looked distraught.

Anne wiped her eyes and stared at her feet as he sat down beside her.

"I thought I'd find you back here."

"How did you know that?" Anne asked incredulously. "I didn't even know I was going here."

Gilbert smiled softly at her. "I knew I had upset you. And I knew you'd go to the pines. Isn't that what you once told me? You'd seek comfort from the pines."

"You know me too well for my own good," Anne said, dabbing at the last tears that had fallen with her handkerchief. "I can't believe you remember that."

"Of course I remember it," Gilbert said. "I'm so sorry, Anne. I wish I could explain, but I … I don't know why I said that."

She stared at him. After all she'd done, he was apologizing to her?

"Because it was the truth, wasn't it? I'm not angry, Gilbert. It just made me think of some things that I never understood before."

"I'm still sorry. I never want to hurt you," Gilbert took a deep breath and stared out at the trees. "It was just hard to see you with him."

Anne smiled softly. "Well, you won't have to ever again."

Gilbert nodded, his hazel eyes still aimed on the trees. He had so many things he wanted to say on the subject, but he didn't know where to start. And it occurred to him suddenly that he didn't know what had happened between Anne and Roy. But now wasn't the time for that. Now he just wanted to know that she was alright, and that there was still some place for him in her life.

He turned his eyes to Anne after a moment. "All I want is for you to be happy."

She smiled sadly and nodded. "I know. And I will be."

"And now, since you say I know you too well, I'm going to venture a guess that you've been out wandering since I left you at the gate."

"You are correct."

"Then I would imagine you are getting hungry."

"I … I suppose so," Anne said, a little confused.

Gilbert rose and walked toward the apple tree.

"Gilbert! Should you be climbing trees?"

"Well," Gilbert said with a wink. "I guess we'll find out. But either way, don't tell my mother."

Anne watched him lift himself into the tree and thought back to the first time they'd been there. How different they'd both been then. Before she'd managed to break both of their hearts. Before Gilbert had come so close to death.

But so much was still the same, she realized as he hollered, "Catch!" from above and began to toss down a few early ripened apples. He still would do anything to make her happy, and she still felt like she could tell him anything and he would understand.

She watched as Gilbert descended from the branches and brushed a few leaves off his shirt. Anne didn't even realize she was staring at him until he spoke.

"What? Did I miss some leaves?" he said, brushing himself off again and looking over his shoulder for whatever she was gazing at so intensely.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just was thinking about the first time you showed me this tree. You cheered me up so that night. Just like now."

Gilbert sat down beside her again. "Like I said, all I want is for you to be happy."

Anne handed him one of the apples he had tossed down. They talked and laughed and enjoyed the fruits for which he had climbed.

Anne felt the self consciousness and anxiety she had felt since Gilbert arrived at Green Gables the day before melt away. It felt so right — so comfortable — to be sitting there with him, their conversations so easy and fluid. No one — not even Diana — understood her like Gilbert did. Even though they had barely talked in the past two years, there was no awkwardness.

Silently, Anne reflected on how different it was with Gilbert than it had been with Roy. She never had to hold back her thoughts to Gilbert for fear of what he would think. For even if he did think something she said was odd, he'd just tease her gently, and the conversation would go on. Roy had often seemed so perplexed by her. Gilbert never did.

Her heart still fluttered at Gilbert's smile, but maybe it always had. And it was far from an unpleasant feeling after all, she concluded.

Darkness had blotted out the light that had shone through the trees. Anne wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there beneath the shade of the little apple tree, but she wished they could simply remain. Their apples long finished, they rose to go, both a little reluctantly.

"There weren't many ripe yet," Gilbert said. "We'll have to come back in a few weeks."

Anne thought her heart would burst at the thought. Had it been just hours ago that she had worried she'd never get to spend another afternoon with him?

The moon was a tiny sliver in the sky as Gilbert walked with her back to Green Gables, its light casting soft shadows through the trees. But Gilbert didn't notice the beauty of the scenery around him; he was too entranced with the way the moonlight reflected out of Anne's gray-green eyes, the way the sparkles had replaced the tears he found earlier.

He still wanted to know what had happened between Anne and Roy. Had Roy hurt her? And if so, would he just be a second choice? As much as he yearned to have Anne in his life, he wanted her to love him as he loved her. He wondered how he would ever know.

But it didn't matter for now, he thought to himself, as he reveled in Anne's ramblings about the way the moonlight reflected on the Lake of Shining Waters. He had time. Medical school would take three years, and he would use every moment to make this dream come true.

As Green Gables came into view, Anne turned to him and smiled, her eyes gazing into his for a moment. Her musings on moonlight concluded.

"Thank you, for … for always looking out for me. I don't know where I'd be without you," she said softly.

"I'll always be there for you," he answered, his voice low as he tried to control the emotions coursing through him. Perhaps it wouldn't take three years after all.

After they had stood at the gate for another half hour, Gilbert took out a silver pocket watch.

"I think it's safe to say I'm not going to be let out for a few days," he said.

And as he walked away, Anne's smile lingering in his mind, he realized a few days of confinement was worth it for this night.


	6. A Not-Quite Love Story

_(Thanks once again for the lovely reviews. I've got three or four chapters to go, so I hope you'll stick with me. This chapter got a little long, and it relies heavily on Anne of the Island.)_

**Chapter 6: A Not-Quite Love Story**

True to her word, Gilbert's mother was not about to let her son out of the house. Wandering home at 11 o'clock at night, indeed!

Gilbert obliged her by spending the first day resting. He had overdone it the day before, after all, no matter how much it had been worth it.

But by the second day, he'd had quite enough sitting around. Taking it easy was all well and good, but since that's all he'd done all summer, the white walls of the house seemed to contract by the hour.

As evening fell, he moved out to the porch, the heat of the day long gone. At least there he could feel the breeze and watch the birds fluttering through the deep blue sky.

Among the calls of the birds, he heard a more human humming coming up the road — no words, just a gentle melody carried through the gentle breeze. He would have recognized the sound anywhere, so sweet and clear and familiar.

Gilbert hustled down to the gate to meet Anne as she approached.

"I thought maybe you could use something to do, and I had a few books I thought you might like," she said, holding a stack out to him. "It seemed like the least I could do, since you were stuck inside because of me."

Gilbert reached forward to take the stack of books, and, acting a little more awkward than he actually felt, overlapped Anne's slender white fingers with his own and fumbled a little with the pile. He watched a rosy flush spread over her cheeks and felt the slightest tremble.

"That is very thoughtful," he said, glancing over the titles and smiling. "I have about exhausted my own library."

"I figured as much."

Gilbert took pleasure in watching her as she told him about each book and why she thought he'd like it. She finally looked up and met his gaze and tried to catch her breath from the stream of chatter.

"I guess you know me too well, too," Gilbert told her. "They all sound fantastic."

…

John Blythe sat at the kitchen table reading the paper. He looked up to see his wife pacing nervously near the window, the white muslin curtains flapping as she passed by.

"What are you doing, dear?" he asked.

"It's about time he came back in, wouldn't you say?" she answered.

"Oh, I think he'll be just fine," he said, laughing. "What's wrong? I always thought you liked Anne."

She walked back toward the counter where she had been washing dishes.

"I did like her. I mean, I do like her. It's just … I don't want to see my son hurt again."

John glanced out the window, where Gilbert was still leaning on the fence talking and laughing with Anne, the books she brought on the ground beside him.

"Oh, I don't think we have to worry about that," John said, a crooked smile on his face as he turned away. "Just look at them. I don't remember ever seeing her look at him like that before. And for that matter, I don't recall her coming and lingering at our gate to talk to him. He was always the one chasing her."

"Yes, well, we also thought they'd have been engaged years ago, and we were wrong then. Oh, don't try to talk sense to me. You're not a mother; perhaps you don't feel his pain the way I do."

"He doesn't look to be in much pain now," John replied with a knowing laugh as he left the room.

His wife looked outside again. Indeed, Gilbert looked as happy as he had looked in years. And it wasn't that she didn't like Anne — quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Gilbert may have gotten most of his looks and all of his mischief from his father, but the wit and brains that put him at the top of his classes at Queens and Redmond were his mother's. And she knew that if she'd had a daughter, she'd have wanted her to be like Anne. The girl was as perfect for her boy as anyone could be. But the memory of the way Gilbert looked when he came home from Redmond, so defeated and spiritless, hadn't left his mother's mind.

"Please, God, just let him be happy," came her whispered prayer as she turned from the window.

…

Gilbert's mother didn't relent on her vow to keep him in the house until Sunday, and then he was allowed to go to church and nothing more. His presence was a welcome sight to the congregation, which had prayed diligently for him during his illness.

He held his own through the Sunday excursion, so his mother gave in when he offered to take some letters to the post office for her the next day. He set off happily, planning a stop at Green Gables along the way.

As he whistled down the road, he caught a sight of shining red tresses in the distance.

"Anne, slow down," he yelled.

Anne turned around and called back to him: "Can't you keep up with me?"

"Well, not when you get a head start!" he answered as he caught up to her. "Where are you going?"

"I need to buy some thread and buttons for a dress I'm working on," she said, holding up a scrap of green fabric. "And where are you headed?"

"The post office. Mother decided I should be well enough to run errands for her at least."

"That must be a nice change."

"Certainly is. Mind if I tag along with you to stretch it out a little?"

"Of course not. If you can keep up with me, that is," Anne answered. But she had slowed down her pace considerably already. Gilbert's strides remained a little uncertain compared to his usual quick steps. "I'm sure it won't be a very interesting stop."

"Nonsense. Didn't I ever tell you haberdashery would have been my second career choice if medicine didn't work out?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I never heard that before," Anne said between giggles.

…

Gilbert was thankful for the chance to rest out of the searing sun, and he took a seat on a bench at the back of the store as Anne went up to get her supplies.

As Anne waited patiently for the clerk to look for what she wanted, Josie Pye pushed her way into the store. She didn't seem to notice Gilbert waiting on the bench as she made her way toward Anne.

Gilbert couldn't help but notice the contrast between the two girls: Josie, in a starched pink gown, all frills and fluffs, with her carefully placed yellow hair, the pains put into her appearance obvious with every move, and Anne, whose simple blue lawn dress fluttered around her as if it were an extension of her rather than a garment.

"I'm sorry, Anne. We don't have anything in that shade right now," the clerk said, returning the swatch. "We should have more coming in soon."

"That's alright," Anne replied. "I have some time. It's just for a dress I'm making over for a wedding the first of September."

Josie pounced.

"I see it's not white you're looking for, Anne. So I guess college didn't pay off for you after all," she said with a triumphant smirk.

Even from his seat across the room, Gilbert could see the green tints come out in Anne's gray eyes and her fists clench.

"I went to college to gain knowledge of the world and learn to live a better life, so it certainly did pay off," she answered in a forced tone.

"Oh, but I'm sure those weren't the only reasons you were there, of course," Josie said in a sugary voice. "After all those rumors of some rich beau in Kingsport, I don't see any ring on your finger. Of course, I never believed you could land someone like that anyway. I'm sure he realized an orphan would never fit in high society. Why, you might as well have stayed here for all the good it did you."

"I can see how well that worked out for you," Anne answered frostily.

Gilbert stifled a chuckle.

Josie's eyes narrowed as she stomped away, spotting Gilbert for the first time.

"Why, Gilbert, I didn't see you there? Whatever are you doing?" Josie said sweetly.

"I'm waiting for Anne," he replied.

Josie glowered at him and left in a huff, whatever her reason for coming in the store apparently forgotten.

Anne slowly made her way back toward the door, her face still flushed over the encounter by the time she reached Gilbert's side. They walked out the door into the stifling, stove-like August heat.

"She never stops trying to get under your skin, does she?" Gilbert asked finally. "At least you got the best of her, as usual."

"I long ago gave up trying to like Josie Pye," Anne replied. "Even putting her in her place no longer is anything but an annoyance, or I would have told her exactly what happened."

Gilbert thought for a moment. Perhaps this was his chance.

"And exactly what _did_ happen, Anne? That is, if you don't mind me asking."

Anne looked down at the little puffs of red dust clouding their feet as they walked the road out of town.

"Oh, I don't mind. I'll tell you, if you'll promise you won't tell me how foolish I am," she answered.

"I could never find you foolish," he answered.

"Well then, do you want the long version or the short version?"

Gilbert plopped down along the bank of the Lake of Shining Waters.

"By all means, the long version. I do need to rest if I want to keep up with you the rest of the way," Gilbert said, his long, lean body stretched out among the deep green grass.

Anne smiled as she sat down beside him. "I don't know if it's _that_ long of a story," she teased.

For a moment, she stared out across the lake, the upside-down reflections of the trees and grasses of the opposite shore sparkling like a mirror in the still of the afternoon.

"When we were 12 or 13, Diana and I discussed our future husbands at length. Our tastes were exactly similar, though looking back, I suppose it was just because we had been reading the same novels," she began. "He would be _tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice*_. And I thought the very height of romance was flowers and poetry."

Anne drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she continued. Gilbert watched her, remembering the starry-eyed little girl of whom she spoke, and wished for not the first time he could have known her better then.

"I became convinced the only way I'd fall in love with anyone, the only way I'd marry anyone, is if he met those exacting qualifications. If I didn't meet anyone like that, then I'd never marry.

"I was so disappointed when Diana told me she was marrying Fred. I thought she was just settling for him, and I was more determined than ever that I'd never falter in my search for that ideal."

Gilbert ran his hand through the grass, pulling up individual blades and running them through his fingers. If that was Anne's ideal, could he ever satisfy her?

"I was so obsessed with this silly vision that I ignored anything that was _real_. I pushed down anything I felt that didn't match up with what I had told myself I wanted when I was a little girl," Anne said, sensing his discomfort and trying to find a way to let him know that it wasn't what she wanted anymore.

"My third year at Redmond, I was feeling …," Anne searched for the right words. She knew now what had been wrong with her that fall — that she had missed Gilbert so acutely. "Lonely. And restless. And so, one November afternoon when everyone else had gone to a football game, I went to the park.

"It had started to rain, and the wind came up and turned my umbrella wrong-side out. And that's when I met Roy. I turned around and he was the very vision of what my 12-year-old self had wanted. He came to my rescue, and then we talked in the pavilion through the storm. And that night, he sent me a dozen roses, complete with a poem. And … and … before long, I thought I must be in love with him."

Anne dropped her forehead against her knees for a moment, her memories filled suddenly with moments where she should have known she wasn't in love with Roy. Every time he failed to see the humor in something that filled her with laughter. All the thoughts she couldn't share with him. The times he sent her orchids or other flowers that didn't _know_ her in the same way as the lilies Gilbert gave her for graduation.

She was deep in her thoughts when she felt a warm pressure on her arm. She turned her head to the side and noticed Gilbert had crept closer to her and gently rested his hand against her.

"I'm sorry, Anne. You don't have to tell me anymore if it upsets you."

Anne smiled, treasuring the feeling of his touch. "I'm not upset. Just embarrassed. But I want to tell you the rest."

"Only if you're sure."

Anne continued: "I think on some level I always knew I wasn't really in love with him. I never felt natural with him. He was sweet and kind and showered me in flowers and poetry and romantic compliments, but he never really knew me or understood me. Nor I him, really. But, well, I don't have to tell you how stubborn I can be."

Gilbert laughed. "No, that's pretty well established, I think."

"So, I wouldn't admit to myself that I didn't love him. Instead, I decided that what I'd imagined being in love would feel like wasn't real, that it was just like so many other things in life that don't live up to expectations. I was bored, to be honest. But, I really thought that I would say yes if he asked me to marry him."

Gilbert felt his heart racing as he waited to see where the story went.

"The day after convocation, we went for a walk in the park, to the pavilion where we talked the day we met. And he proposed, with all the poetry and compliments that 12-year-old me could have desired.

"And I felt … nothing."

Gilbert let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"I told him I couldn't marry him, that I didn't care enough for him. Then he left and I felt, oh, just remarkably myself and … and _free_ again. I did feel horrible for him for awhile. It … it wasn't his fault. Well, at least, I felt horrible until his younger sister came to see me. You see, his mother and one of his sisters never really liked me, I know, but the other sister and I became quite good chums. She came to see me and told me Roy would have bored me to death. And then, she told me he's 'always' gotten over such things before. I didn't feel so bad then, because he had always given me the impression that I was the only woman he had ever loved. I guess it wasn't any more dishonest than me allowing him to think I loved him."

Anne turned and looked at Gilbert. "So, that's the story. Do I seem terribly foolish to you? The only other people who've heard it are Phil and Diana. I know Phil thought I'd gone mad, but I think Di understood."

Gilbert gazed into her eyes, trying not to notice how close she was, how little effort it would take to brush his lips against hers. He couldn't give himself away, not yet. The last thing he wanted to do was rush her or scare her away.

"No, I don't think you foolish at all. It would have been foolish to marry him. I … I never thought he was right for you. I even thought about trying to tell you that, but I know you too well to think that would have done any good."

Anne laughed. "You never know."

Gilbert stood up, brushed off his brown trousers and offered Anne his hand. Anne rose gingerly.

"Maybe the next time you think you're in love you should ask my opinion," he told her, still clutching her hand and looking down at her. He watched as she dropped her gaze, a rosy blush covering her pale cheeks.

A warmth spread through him at her reaction, warmer even than the relentless heat of the summer sun, warmer than the fever that had nearly killed him.

But the feeling was gone as soon as it came. A memory flashed in his mind, of the first time he and Anne had discussed matters of the heart, under a tree at Echo Lodge so long ago. The dropped gaze, the blush — it was just the same.

So had she loved him then and still now? Or never? And how was he going to find out the truth?

_*From Anne of Avonlea_


	7. Dreams Revisited

_(A.N.: Thank you so, so much for all the lovely reviews. I really can't tell you how much it means to me that you are enjoying this!)_

**Chapter 7: Dreams revisited**

Piles of paper obscured the surface of the table in the Green Gables kitchen. Anne usually preferred to do her writing by her bedroom window, but the afternoon light shining in golden rays through the kitchen seemed cheerier and more conducive to her flights of imagination.

Scattered away from her were the little sketches carefully written in blue ink, waiting to be sent off to magazines. So light had been her spirit in the week since she told Gilbert about all that happened with Roy that the words practically wrote themselves. She'd even found herself scribbling out poems, fanciful little things that seemed more conducive for expressing herself, if not for landing on an editor's desk.

Somehow telling the tale to Gilbert had unburdened her soul in ways that her tearful talk with Phil and detailed conversation with Diana had not. Perhaps it had something to do with how Gilbert's quiet understanding contrasted Phil's scolding and Diana's overt sympathy. Or more likely it had to do with how glad Anne was to be able to tell him of her change of heart.

It was those thoughts that filled her as she toiled over her poem now. A single braid held her red locks back and ran down her back, but the soft curls around her face were not prone to such order and again and again fell across her eyes as she leaned over the papers on the table. Time and again she tried to push them back with the back of her hand or move them with the breeze of her breath, only to have gravity push them back across her vision. Though the interruptions were frustrating to her, they were endearing to the visitor standing silently at the open kitchen door.

Gilbert hadn't intended to stand at the door watching her; but her unflappable concentration on whatever she was writing brought to mind the little girl who stared so resolutely out the schoolhouse window despite his best efforts to distract her. Soon he was leaning against the doorframe, a satisfied grin on his face.

He thought back to the past two years when such moments didn't happen, when rare was the opportunity to talk to Anne or walk with her or simply to stand against a doorframe and watch her deep in thought.

Unconsciously, he sighed in contentment, rousing Anne from her concentration.

"Gilbert! You scared me! How long were you standing there?" she said, burying the poem she had been writing at the bottom of the stack and hoping she hadn't been mumbling or mouthing the words she had been mulling over.

He sat at the chair opposite her and surveyed the clutter on the table.

"Oh, not that long. What are you working on, Anne? It looks like it must be a novel by the amount of paper."

Anne groped for words, hoping he didn't ask to see the paper she had shoved away, the paper full of lines written with him in mind.

"Well …" she began, finding an answer that was neither exactly true nor a lie. "Do you remember when Diana mentioned me falling through the Copp duckhouse?"

Gilbert furrowed his brow in confusion at how such a story could be connected to the disorder on the kitchen table.

"Yes, but you didn't want her to tell the story. What does that have to do with all this?" he asked, gesturing to the chaos around him.

"When I was teaching here, I borrowed Diana's Aunt Josephine's willowware platter for a dinner, and Davy accidentally broke it. Diana heard the Copp girls on Tory Road had an identical one, so we went to see if we could buy it. But when we got there, no one was home. Diana suggested we look in the pantry window, and I climbed on an old duckhouse to get a better view. I was so excited upon seeing the identical platter to Aunt Josephine's that I hopped just a little and went right through the roof.

"So, there I was, stuck in a roof through to my waist, and Diana couldn't find any way to get me down. As if that wasn't bad enough, dark clouds were rolling in. Diana fetched me an umbrella, and there I spent the storm, my feet perched on a barrel."

Gilbert laughed at the image provoked by the story, still not understanding the connection. "That definitely sounds like something that would happen to you."

"Oh, I know, and only me. But it really wasn't so bad. It had been so dry that summer that the rain was a blessing. And as I stood there, I began imagining how thankful the little flowers would be for the moisture and what they would think and say and oh, it was quite lovely. I could almost hear their little voices. When the rain stopped, Diana fetched me a scrap of wrapping paper and a pencil, and I wrote the whole thing out there, stuck in the roof, just a _little dialogue between asters and sweet-peas, wild canaries in the lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of the garden._*"

Gilbert knew where the story was going now and desperately hoped Anne didn't notice his jaw tighten as he recalled how he knew it.

"I never expected to do anything with it, but one dreary day last November, Stella and I were howling with laughter over some of the old Story Club scripts Diana, Jane, Ruby and I wrote when I found it. I rewrote it and sent it to the Youth's Friend, and they sent me a cheque, and I've been sending them little sketches ever since," Anne said proudly, handing him a copy of her first published story.

Gilbert surveyed the page, moving his eyes as if to read it. But he didn't need to read it, having done so enough times to know the dialogue by heart. As he pretended to read, he thought back to the night of Jennie Cooper's walking party. He had taken Christine as a favor to her, having no real interest in the party whatsoever even before he found himself walking directly in front of Anne and Roy.

Gilbert had stolen a glance at Anne that night, admiring her shapely form, in a deep blue gown, and her graceful steps—more graceful still compared to Christine's plodding gait. He noticed how Anne's eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed, and he had cringed at the time wondering what had lit the fire so obviously burning within her. As it was, he didn't have to worry long, for his position was such that he could hear most of what Anne was telling Roy, even over Christine's persistent and tedious prattling. Anne's usually soft voice carried to his ears as if maybe, just maybe, she meant for him to hear it, too.

The version she had told Roy had been far more abbreviated — she'd told him she thought up the sketch during a much-needed summer rain — but Gilbert had heard enough to know which publication to purchase. Then he'd read it over and over and over, as if he could hear it in Anne's voice.

But he summoned all the delight he'd felt the first time he saw Anne's sketch and grinned at her.

"That's wonderful. I always knew you'd be published," he said. "So that's what all of this is?"

"Most of it, yes," Anne said, feeling as if her chest would burst with pride at Gilbert's reaction. "Others are just notes and ramblings. It was such a wonderful feeling, to know someone appreciated my work and that something I wrote might make the world more enjoyable for someone else."

"Adding beauty to life, just like you planned, right?" Gilbert asked.

Anne smiled, her eyes soft and earnest and staring into his. "And soon you'll be a doctor, just like you planned. I guess we're both well on our way to making our dreams come true."

Gilbert just nodded, thinking of the dream he had that he had yet to have fulfilled, that he wondered sometimes if he'd ever manage to fulfill.

Quiet voices on the front steps jolted Anne out of the trance the green and golden brown specks of Gilbert's eyes had put her in. She shifted her gaze to the door, where she could see Marilla and Mrs. Lynde approaching.

A moment later the two ladies entered the kitchen and greeted Gilbert, inquiring about his parents and his health. After a little conversation, he excused himself, and Anne walked out to the front gate with him, allowing Marilla and Mrs. Lynde to continue their talk.

"What in the world do they talk about so long?" Mrs. Lynde asked.

Marilla sighed. "I haven't the slightest idea. Even if I'm in the room with them, I've never been able to understand more than bits and pieces."

Mrs. Lynde nodded, collapsing her sizeable frame into a wooden kitchen chair. "They're standing out there, just like they used to. I certainly hope that girl's come to her senses this time."

Marilla, uncomfortable as ever at Mrs. Lynde's matchmaking tones, looked at Anne, laughing and talking with Gilbert at the gate. She sighed deeply.

"I hope so, too."

"And we're not the only ones. Why, everyone in town has noticed how much they go about together again," Mrs. Lynde said. "She won't find a better match anywhere, and the Good Lord knows she won't get a third chance, that's what."

…

Gilbert walked home contemplating the time he had left in Avonlea before he had to go back to Redmond. The leaves swishing about in the breeze above him were still a deep green, but soon they'd turn. He had less than a month until he'd board the boat train once again, this time leaving Anne behind.

While the days since their talk alongside the Lake of Shining Waters had passed easily for Anne, Gilbert felt as if he had been pulled back into his old patterns of worrying and wondering if he could ever truly know if Anne cared for him.

There was no doubt she was more demonstrative toward him and less likely to flee at any sign of sentimentality. She seemed to seek him out rather than waiting until he came around Green Gables. Since that day along the lake, she'd stopped at the gate to see him any time she went to the cemetery, and she greeted him enthusiastically when he'd drop by to see her.

But in every visit, there was at least one moment when Gilbert would doubt, a moment when he would remember with stunning recall every other time Anne's actions and words and looks made him think she loved him.

He wished desperately that he could know where he stood with her before he left for Kingsport, but his thoughts and feelings and desires became more twisted up every hour he spent with her. One second he would be overcome with the memories of her rejection in the orchard and every other time she'd pushed away his attempts at making his feelings known; the next moment he would be filled with hope and even confidence that maybe this time was different.

He slowed his steps as he pondered his possibilities. It would be three years before he would complete his medical course — three years in which they couldn't marry even if she would say yes. Maybe it was best to wait, Gilbert thought. Wait until he knew for sure. Wait until the awful worries and memories began to fade, leaving in place a certainty that this time she wanted him as he wanted her.

He would write her, as he'd wanted to the previous two summers, when not knowing where she was or what she was doing or thinking nearly drove him mad. He remembered how his hands had shaken last summer as he wrote her name on an envelope to send a college society report, wanting so badly to add a note or a letter but being too scared that she wouldn't respond.

Yes, he would be terrified the entire time she was in Summerside. Terrified someone else would swoop in and steal her again. Terrified they'd grow apart, letters or no letters. But he was more terrified still of that empty feeling at the pit of his stomach — the one that felt like he had been cut to the core and hollowed out —he'd felt when she told him she wouldn't marry him.

By the time he reached home, Gilbert had made up his mind. He would wait. If she needed more time, he'd give it to her. He couldn't chase her away, couldn't lose her again.

If there was one thing Gilbert Blythe knew, it was that he needed Anne Shirley in his life. And he would wait as long as it took to make that dream come true.


	8. An Overdue Apology

**Chapter 8: An overdue apology**

Her legs off to the side and her voluminous skirts billowing around her, Anne crouched among the flowers in the Green Gables yard, fingers plucking at the weeds that had begun to creep around the stalks of the lilies of the valley. The delicate bell-like white flowers had long since bloomed and wilted, but the deep green blades of their leaves remained in the shady spots where they flourished.

Finished with one patch, Anne turned slightly to look for others that needed tending and saw instead a pair of brown shoes below brown trousers approaching. Her eyes fluttered up and met Gilbert's as he finished striding toward her. She rose, wiping the dirt from her fingers onto her white apron.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Gilbert said.

"Oh, I'm finished," Anne replied, trying again to wipe a stubborn patch of dirt off her hand.

"It looks like they're spreading. If you don't thin them out, they'll take over the yard."

"I know, but I can't stand to pull them up. I always feel as if I'm casting off a friend if I take any of them out. Marilla does it when I'm not around," she said, her eyes again fluttering up to meet his. "They're among my favorite flowers, you know."

Gilbert's voice caught in his throat, remembering the way the bouquet of white and green had looked cradled against a graduation gown in Anne's slender arms, his heart leaping the same as it had when he saw her carrying his flowers. "I know."

Anne cleared her throat. "What brings you by today?"

Gilbert laughed a little. "Boredom, mostly. My parents still are refusing to let me do anything useful. So I thought I'd see what you were doing."

"Ah, well. Don't I feel special," Anne said, a sly grin creeping onto her face.

Gilbert grinned back at her, studying her expression. Was she flirting with him? That certainly wasn't Anne's nature, but he had to admit that he could get used to it.

"As well you should."

"I was just going to take some letters to the post office, so if that's interesting enough for you, you're welcome to join me," Anne said, walking toward the house.

"I suppose it will have to do," Gilbert answered in a tone of exaggerated arrogance.

As they strolled off toward the post office, Anne noticed she was no longer slowing herself quite as much to allow Gilbert to keep up with her. His coloring was normal again, and he was nowhere near as thin as he had been when he showed up there only weeks before. He kept up his end of the conversation without difficulty. Even after the journey to and from the post office, he did not seem tired.

They entered the Green Gables yard and were nearly bowled over by an exuberant Davy.

"Say, Anne, you must have talked Marilla into letting me and Dora go to the concert next week. She wasn't going to let us but now she is, and it's going to be bully …" Davy stopped at Anne's disapproving look, "splendid fun, just splendid."

"Yes, I did talk to her. And I hope you'll behave yourself," she said, to which Davy nodded his head solemnly.

Marilla came around the corner and shook her gray head with a frown. "Yes, it was all Anne's doing. And if they're all full of nonsense after, you can deal with them," she told Anne.

"Oh, Marilla, don't you remember when Matthew had to convince you to let me go to my first concert? Was I so much of a trial to you afterward?"

"You were and are and likely will be in the future," Marilla answered with a smile.

"Well, I suppose that's true. But I think they'll have a wonderful time. Oh, I can still remember every detail of my first concert; every performance was just magical to me."

Gilbert, who had been watching the exchange in amusement, now raised an eyebrow. "Really? Every performance?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Anne responded, her lips twitching a little.

"Oh, I just happen to remember looking out in the audience and seeing someone who looked an awful lot like you totally absorbed in a book as I recited."

"Well, at least, I _heard_ every performance. I couldn't prevent that. And of course I couldn't prevent Diana from telling me _everything_ I missed," Anne said with that same sly smile she'd given him earlier.

Gilbert flushed, remembering how he couldn't prevent his eyes from seeking out the obstinate red-haired girl as he reached the lines of the object of the dying soldier's affection. Oh, how she had frustrated him with her refusal to even acknowledge his existence!

"I see. And, so, if you remember every detail, what was your critique of my performance?"

Anne laughed. "That depends. Do you want my opinion then or now?"

"I don't think I could bear to hear what your opinion was then, so now, I guess."

"Well, I've never read Bingen on the Rhine since without hearing it in your voice, quite honestly," she said a little shyly. "You were quite wonderful."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting her to have heard him or to have had any effect on her.

Davy broke in, his confusion having reached its peak. "Why were you ignoring Gilbert, Anne? Weren't you friends?"

Anne and Gilbert smiled at each other while Marilla laughed.

"No, we were not exactly friends, Davy," Anne answered.

"To be fair, I always wanted to be your friend. It was you who wouldn't hear of it," Gilbert pointed out.

"Why not, Anne? I want to know," Davy said.

Anne thought of every moral lesson she'd tried to impart on the boy and tried to think of a way to tell the story without making herself seem too much a hypocrite, but Gilbert jumped in.

"I teased her the first day I met her, Davy. And Anne …" he paused and looked for Anne's reaction.

"Go ahead and tell him," she said through clenched teeth.

"Anne kind of, well, she broke her slate over my head."

Davy gasped and stared at Anne, the person who had so earnestly tried to mold his behaviors and make him into a gentleman. Davy had little imagination and could never have imagined even if he did that this beacon of etiquette could have behaved like that. "You did that, Anne?"

"Yes, Davy, I did," Anne answered regretfully. "I had a dreadful temper then."

"But you apologized, right? You always make me apologize when I've done something wrong."

Anne looked at Gilbert, who just shrugged.

"I don't believe you ever did," he said, a look on his face akin to the mischievous one he wore the first time she saw him, when he had just finished pinning Ruby's braid to his desk.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, grasping his hands dramatically. He caught his breath and stared at her.

"Gilbert, I'm dreadfully sorry I broke my slate over your head and ignored you for five years, and I'm sorry I was so horrible to you when you saved me from the bridge … and," she dropped her gaze to her feet, hearing herself continue on even before she thought it through. "And for any other foolish thing I've done since to hurt you."

Davy may not have — and did not — understand what had just passed between them, but Marilla was much more mindful of the significance of Anne's words. Wordlessly, she pushed the boy into the house and away from the pair still standing before each other on the yard.

In the years since he had gained her friendship, Gilbert had become adept at hiding his true feelings for Anne. For a time, before he proposed he had stopped trying to conceal them, thinking she felt the same. But ever since then, he had worked to maintain a calm exterior no matter the torrent inside. And so it was that he was able to keep still the hands she still held and make his voice come out in normal pitch.

"All is forgiven," he smiled. "On one condition, that is."

Anne looked expectantly at him, and for just a second she allowed herself to hope at what the condition might be.

"Might I escort you to the concert of which Davy spoke? It might be fun, for old time's sake."

"I think I can find time for that," she answered, forcing a smile. Anne somewhat awkwardly released the hands she had forgotten she was clutching, immediately wishing she could hold onto him again.

"I should be heading home," Gilbert said, turning to go with a wave of his hand. "Until next time."

Anne watched him leave and retreated to the house.

…

Gilbert felt foolish leaving in such a hurry, but what else could he do? He could still feel the warmth from her slender hands holding onto his, and his heart was racing still as it had when she reached the end of her apology. He leaned against a maple tree, tilting his chin until the back of his head rubbed against the coarse bark.

His mind flashed back to the orchard of Patty's Place, that horrid afternoon where all his dreams had collapsed around him, where he had scorned her request to remain friends. He had known he wanted — needed — more than that from her, and he felt he could no longer hide the desire he felt for her.

At first he had been angry. Angry with her because he had been so sure that she felt the same way as he did. But he could not remain upset with her in any case, and especially not when the true blame was with him.

Gilbert replayed the scene in his mind as he leaned under the branches. He would never forget the desperate look in her eyes as she tried to distract him. She had tried to stop him, to spare his feelings. But he wouldn't listen. She had wanted to stay in his life. But the thought of continuing on as if nothing changed was impossible for him in that moment.

In the weeks and months that had followed, he had regretted everything and had grown more and more frustrated at his selfishness. If he loved her as much as he believed he did, why did he continue on with his pleas when it was obvious it wasn't what she wanted? Why had he walked away when he had seen the pain on her face, the pain he had caused? And how could he have tossed away the friendship he had worked so hard to gain?

Gilbert had prayed that he'd have another chance, not really believing he'd get one. He imagined again and again what he could have done differently. But he had known it was no use. And so the irritation continued to grow exponentially with each time he encountered her, each time he saw her on someone else's arm. If he hadn't been so impatient, so impetuous, that could have been him still at her side. They could have been talking and laughing, and certainly Anne wouldn't look nearly as bored with him as she had with Gardner.

He had remembered that irritation when he decided days earlier to wait. He wanted her to be ready, to feel the same as him. He couldn't rush headlong into this again. He had to listen this time. She had to know that what she wanted was more important to him than anything.

And so he had fled Green Gables when he felt the façade he had so carefully cultivated slipping away, before that desire and longing caused him to do something foolish again.

Gilbert bounced his head against the tree, willing his pulse to slow a little. But the little coquettish looks Anne had given him and the earnest look as she apologized wouldn't leave him.

He wanted so desperately to know that she loved him — and to have her not be afraid of that feeling.

That night he sat by his window, looking in the direction of Green Gables, wishing and praying that someday she might give him some sign that was clear, a sign that his lovesick brain couldn't twist, a sign that he could now give her what she wanted, not just what he wanted.

…

After Anne retreated to her bedroom that night, she collapsed into her pillows, thinking long thoughts about what she'd said to Gilbert.

Her mind traveled to that afternoon at Patty's Place, when he had caught her alone for the first time in months, his arms full of mayflowers and his face so full of hope. She remembered how her heart had fallen when he told her he wouldn't be in Avonlea that summer. How had she not realized how special he was to her?

But she hadn't fully realized it, even as she had implored him to remain her friend. Even as the thought of her life without him broke her heart.

He hadn't shown any reaction at her apology, almost as if he hadn't heard or hadn't understood the last part. Anne groaned to herself and wondered if she'd ever have a chance to right her mistake, now that she understood why that memory had haunted her.

And she knelt at her window that night, looking in the direction of Gilbert's home, wishing and praying for some way to tell him or show him how much she meant what she had said that afternoon in the yard, a way to tell him he had never been wrong to think she cared.


	9. A Concert and a Confession

_(A.N.: Thanks, once again for the lovely reviews. I was worried that last chapter was a bit lackluster, so I was happy to see it was well received. We're nearing the end, just this one and one more to go before we rejoin the original text!)_

**Chapter 9: A Concert and a Confession**

Anne studied her reflection in the East Gable mirror. Her new dress, a cream challis* with tiny violets scattered among the tucks and folds of the fabric, was part of the wardrobe she'd prepared to take to Summerside. It seemed a little dressy for a country concert at the Avonlea hall, but she had agonized for days over what to wear. Finally, she had put it on, determined to look her best when Gilbert showed up.

It didn't really matter the occasion at that moment; no, Anne would have spent nearly as much time deciding what to wear had he been coming to escort her to the store. They hadn't gone to anything together since the spring of their sophomore year, weeks before his proposal had all but severed their friendship.

Her hair coiled and pinned atop her head to her satisfaction, she went down the stairs, through the hallway and saw Gilbert approaching the open door. Anne's heart fluttered a little at the sight of him dressed carefully in a brown suit with a coppery tie slightly askew at the throat of his white shirt.

"You look lovely, Anne," he said with a smile.

A _friendly_ smile, Anne thought ruefully. But she replied in kind. "Thank you. And you look quite dashing tonight." Then, without thinking, she raised her hands to his collar and straightened his tie. "There. That's better."

She glanced up at him, then pulled her hands back at the surprised look on his face. She looked down, a little embarrassed at her forwardness.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"Yes, well, we should be going," she said, walking toward the door.

"Where are the twins?" Gilbert asked as they descended porch.

"With their friends," Anne replied.

Gilbert felt thankful to have Anne to himself for the walk to the hall, though he found himself fighting to keep his composure once again. The sensation of those slender fingers at his neck, so familiarly adjusting his clothing as if that was something she always did, was almost more than he could take.

But even with Anne fretting over not being able to elicit a better response out of Gilbert and Gilbert trying hard to keep from letting Anne see how often he cast admiring glances at her, they both contrived to enjoy their walk to the hall. They never lacked in topics of conversation or debate.

The Avonlea hall no longer was the brilliant blue it had been in years past, the A.V.I.S. having repainted it the green it had been supposed to be all along while Anne and Gilbert were at Redmond.

"It does look better that way, doesn't it," Gilbert noted.

"Of course it does. That's how we planned it, after all," Anne said with a smile.

As they neared the door, neither could help but notice the glances the good townsfolk were giving them. More than one nudged someone and whispered something as they approached.

And some didn't whisper. Mrs. Andrews rarely concerned herself with decorum in such situations.

"See that? Couldn't get the one she wanted at college, and now she's chasing after poor Gilbert again," she told a nodding Mrs. Sloane.

Anne's face burned in embarrassment, and Gilbert knew by the look on her face that no good could come out of going anywhere near the two ladies. He pretended to take no notice of the gossips and offered Anne his arm.

"Shall we?"  
Anne took a deep breath, pushing down the temper that she really hadn't quite outgrown and took his arm. She tightened her grip on him as several more heads turned to glance at them as they entered.

Gilbert led her to a pair of seats near the back of the hall then sat down beside her. Soon the concert began, and Anne watched with rapt attention for the performers — the little boys and girls she had taught and who had grown and changed so much.

Barbara Shaw managed to make it on the stage without tripping and looked almost as if she was getting comfortable in her own skin. St. Clair Donnell looked just as annoyed at his saintly name as he had when Anne would call him that. Prillie Rogerson was still the undisputed belle of the class, and Anne laughed as she watched how she made eyes at the boys, just as she used to when she'd get Jack Gillis to do her sums for her.

She stifled a giggle as Anthony Pye took the stage and recited Bingen on the Rhine, then leaned toward Gilbert. He slipped his arm behind her lowered his head to hear her.

"What is it with boys who give me trouble reciting that poem?" she whispered.

He grinned and whispered back, "I don't know which would be worse — a slate or a pointer."

With a grin back at him, she settled back into her seat. He didn't bother moving his arm, and to his surprise, she leaned into him ever so slightly, as if that was nothing unusual — as if she belonged there against him. Which, of course, he always had thought she did anyway.

When the concert ended, children surrounded Anne, excited that their beloved teacher had come to watch them. Annetta Bell threw her arms around her, and even Anthony Pye came up to say hello.

Gilbert watched the interactions with a smile on his face. If ever he had thought the way he viewed Anne was tinged by the way he felt about her, he only had to watch her with children to know he wasn't the only one who found her utterly delightful.

Suddenly, his mind shifted to the future. What a wonderful mother she'd be! Gilbert could imagine her with a baby in her arms or crouching beside a toddler, telling bedtime stories. He tried to put himself into the picture, but he stopped himself. He couldn't let himself get his hopes up any farther than they already were.

After some time, the children dispersed, going to their own parents or their friends. Gilbert reclaimed his spot next to Anne.

"Would you care to take a walk?" Gilbert asked, offering his arm as they walked out of the crowded hall.

Anne linked her arm through his. "Oh, yes. I'd hate to waste all the moonlight."

They strolled over all the familiar roads, lit by the crescent moon that cast shadows from the trees and flowers across their path. Finally, they reached Gilbert's destination, the top of a hill just beyond town. They sat down in the soft green grass, as close as they could be without touching.

"This is my favorite spot to watch the stars," Gilbert said, laying back and propping himself up on his elbows. "There's nothing in the way of them up here."

"Beautiful," Anne murmured. "The stars have always been such good company to me. There were times, before I came to Green Gables, that I would gaze out the windows at night, and I wouldn't feel so alone."

"I know what you mean," Gilbert said. Then, noticing Anne's surprised look, he explained. "Oh, mostly for those years we were away, but even sometimes after we returned. I had my parents and all manners of other relations around. But I always felt like something was missing. I guess I just always wanted a big family."

Anne smiled, but then she shivered as she glanced at Gilbert, who had a faraway look in his eyes. Was he thinking of Christine? Of the children they'd have. Oh, they'd be beautiful, of that she had no doubt, though she couldn't really imagine Christine with children. Anne's eyes burned, but she willed the tears gathering there not to fall.

Anne hadn't thought about Christine in weeks. Ever since that night in the Haunted Woods she had been simply content to enjoy spending time with Gilbert. But it all came back in a rush. And in less than two weeks time they'd go their separate ways, possibly forever.

She had no way of knowing, of course, that Gilbert was thinking how the big family of which he dreamed was full of little red-haired children, just like their mother. He let his mind wander back to where it had been going after the concert, and he could see himself sitting on a front porch with Anne beside him while a little red-haired child toddler before them.

But one look at Anne's face told him something he said had bothered her. How insensitive of him to talk of families when she never knew hers! He watched her for a moment, as she ran the little pink enamel heart between her slender, white fingers. It occurred to him for the first time that he hadn't seen her without it since he recovered.

"Anne," he said softly. "When did you start wearing the necklace?"

She slipped her hand to the ground, having realized only with his question that she had been holding onto the pendant.

"I think I've been wearing it since I found out you were ill," she said slowly.

Gilbert nodded. What did that mean? Had she realized then that she did care for him? Or was it just some romantic notion she had imagined, making herself believe she loved him because it would be so tragic?

He was so deep in thought he barely realized she had continued.

"But I guess the first time I wore it was the graduation dance."

Gilbert conjured up a memory of the dance. It was painful, in a way, even now. After seeing Anne holding _his_ flowers at convocation, he had thought maybe there was a chance. Then she had told him she couldn't fit in a dance with him, and he had given up hope.

But even still, he could imagine every detail of how she looked that night, in the softly flowing gown, just the shade of green that suited her skin and eyes and hair. Her eyes had sparkled in the soft candlelight, her cheeks flushed pink in excitement.

"I don't remember you wearing it," he said.

"Yes, well, umm," Anne took a deep breath. "I had put it on before I left Patty's Place, but I took it off before I got to the dance."

"Why?" Gilbert persisted.

"Because, well, because Phil told me she heard your engagement was on the point of being announced. I guess I just didn't feel like I should wear it." Anne didn't try to explain further. She couldn't have even if she found the words. At any moment, she was sure the tears she'd held back that night months earlier would pour down her face. She hadn't understood then why that upset her so much, but she certainly did now.

Gilbert didn't say anything right away. Anne imagined how disgusted he must be with her; she had passed up her chance but was upset at the prospect of his happiness. A tear escaped down her cheek, but she wiped it away.

"Well, I think it looks lovely," Gilbert said, smiling at her tenderly. "I know you don't think you should wear pink, but I think it suits you."

Anne laughed, a hollow little laugh. "Thank you. But I'm afraid it will have to stay the only pink piece in my wardrobe."

"Well, all the same, I'm glad you like it."

Gilbert paused for a moment, thinking through what she had just told him.

"And Anne, there is something else I've wanted to ask you. Why did you carry the flowers I sent you for convocation? I'm sure Gardner had sent you something."

"He … he did. Violets. But at the last moment, I just realized I preferred your lilies," she said quietly. "I guess I should have realized then it was not him I was in love with."

Gilbert looked to the ground beneath him, wondering if it was shaking or if it was just his heart beating. Anne looked so distraught at that moment, as if embarrassed by what she had just shared with him. He wanted badly to comfort her, but this wasn't the time.

"I'm glad you realized it. And I'm glad you liked the lilies. I suppose we should be heading back?" he said finally.

"I suppose we should," Anne answered, turning from him and wiping her pink-rimmed eyes as she stood up.

*From Anne of Windy Poplars


	10. To Speak Again

**To speak again**

Bunches of soft green fabric in her arms, Anne looked around the rather dour Green Gables' parlor. She desperately needed to finish her dress for Alice Penhallow's wedding, but she found herself spending more time trying to come up with ways Marilla would allow her to brighten up the room. Finally realizing that she wasn't getting anywhere, she took the dress out on the step with her, thinking the early autumn day already beautiful enough to keep her mind from trying to improve upon it.

But instead her mind wandered elsewhere, the same place it had many times in recent days.

Anne had replayed the evening of the concert over in her mind again and again in the days that followed it. On one hand, she had had a wonderful time. Seeing her old pupils had been delightful, as had strolling in the moonlight and watching the stars with Gilbert. She could still feel the gentle warmth of his arm draped behind her as sat beside him, and she longed to feel that closeness again.

On the other hand, she had given Gilbert an open opportunity to tell her whether he was engaged to Christine. He hadn't addressed it at all. Before he left her at the gate of Green Gables, he had pulled her hand to his lips and bestowed the gentlest of kisses on her skin. Still she trembled just to think of it.

But then he had strolled away, as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't practically confessed her love to him. As if they were nothing but friends.

Which of course, they were, Anne thought bitterly. That's what she had wanted, and that's what he gave her.

…

The leaves rustled in the early autumn breeze as Gilbert walked through the warm September day toward Green Gables.

When he had arrived home from Redmond, the world was in the splendor of spring, the little green leaves forming on the branches, the colorful buds erupting on the flowers. He hadn't noticed the beauty around him as he contemplated the emptiness of his future.

Then he grew ill, unable to appreciate or even realize the season had changed. Phil's letter had brought the warmth of summer — when he felt the brightness of the world and knew again what it meant to hope. When he was again able to make it outdoors, the summer had taken hold in full. The greens of the grass and blues of the sky and water were their most steadfast.

Soon there would be another change. The green grass had begun to fade. Yellows and oranges dotted the trees. But Gilbert knew the biggest change was still to come.

Before, he had thought about waiting. He wanted to know that he was what she wanted, to make sure she knew what she wanted. They could write each other. Maybe by Christmas he'd be sure.

But that night of the concert, as they talked under the stars, everything fell into place. The flowers, the necklace — that was all before Anne had turned down Royal Gardner's proposal.

So many little moments had swarmed his mind. His flowers cradled in Anne's arms. The way she looked at him now, so different than she ever did before, as if she was no longer holding herself back. How she no longer pulled away at his touch. Her explanation of why she hadn't married Roy. How she had apologized for all those things in the past.

But the string tying it all together was the little gold chain around her neck, the chain holding the pink enamel heart that recollected the candy he once had slipped under her arm as a failed peace offering.

Gilbert thought of the day he bought it. It hadn't started well, that dreary December morn. An acquaintance had told him Roy Gardner was certain to propose to Anne before Christmas. It hadn't been the first delivery of such news he had received, and as always, it was an unwelcome thought.

As he wandered the streets of Kingsport, the snow that had seemed so white and fresh the day before had become gray and brown and old. He barely remembered how he ended up in the store or why he had gone in there. He found himself looking at a little box, containing the pink trinket. He had bought it and packed it up in his trunk to go home for the holidays, knowing it would be a season wholly lacking in magic and hope.

With tears stinging in his eyes and a deep hurt in his heart, he had wrapped the little white box and written on a card, "With all good wishes from your old chum, Gilbert."* He thought bitterly how he'd never be more than her chum; the word choked him, even to write. But he sent it to Green Gables, wishing at least that Anne could remember him fondly as that.

He treasured her little note of thanks, hearing the sweet laugh that would have accompanied the words.

Still no word had come of her engagement, though again and again the rumors of its likelihood reached him through the scores of people who never realized he had so maddeningly wished to be more than just her old friend. With every day, his hope grew less.

He never saw her wear it, though to be fair, he hadn't seen her often. Too great was the pain of seeing her on Roy's arm; so he avoided her, avoided anything that made him think of her.

He had noticed it instantly, snug against the white of her throat, the first time he went to see her after the fever. He had hoped it meant something deeper, but bitter experience had taught him to doubt. But time and again she wore it; her fingers seemed drawn to it.

Still, he didn't know if it meant anything, any more than he knew what to make of the flush on her cheeks when he gazed upon her. Until, that was, the night on the hill, when she'd admitted, in her own way, her despair at the thought of him being engaged to someone else. And more than that, when she'd come as close as she ever had to admitting she herself loved him.

Finally he knew. It hadn't been his imagination. She had always cared, even if she hadn't known it or hadn't been ready. But she seemed to know it now.

Gilbert hadn't realized before then that Anne didn't know the nature of his relationship with Christine. And he didn't tell her. It was nice, for once, to feel like he had the upper hand, or at very least, equal footing. She'd know soon enough.

When he'd walked her home that night, he had wanted desperately to hold her against him, to taste for the first time those perfect pink lips, to run his hands in those red strands. But there would be time for that later. So, instead, he took her milk-white hand in his and brought it to his lips, gazing into the eyes that never strayed from his.

He had formed his plan as he walked home — practically skipped home — from Green Gables, having decided he couldn't wait any longer — had waited long enough already. He couldn't remember if he'd slept at all that night or simply thought of her, thought of their future.

The path that had brought him to that point had not been easy to travel, from the moment he tripped onto it that long ago September day in the little school house. There were twists and turns, hills and valleys, and all manner of bumps. But now he realized that every step and every stumble had been there for a reason.

If the conceited young boy hadn't grasped onto those long red braids, he may never have noticed how different Anne Shirley was from every other girl in the Avonlea School — really, every girl in the world. And if she, like the other girls, had forgiven him easily, he didn't know who he would have become nor if he would have fallen so completely, irrevocably in love with her.

Certainly, it would have been easier if, when they finally became friends, she had realized the strength of the bond that held them together. But because she hadn't felt it then, she found out for herself that her dreams of romance paled in comparison to the realities of it.

And while the pain and weakness that came with the fever seemed like a high price to pay, he knew he'd do it all again if it meant Anne finally felt the stirrings in her heart of the love that he knew was there all along. It also had taught him how important she really was to him, that he could never take that for granted.

So he was thankful for everything that had happened along the road — the pleasant and the not so pleasant, the heartbreak and the triumph. And now that path was taking him back to Green Gables.

September dawned. Anne had a wedding to go to tonight; he remembered the green dress for which she had sought thread and buttons. So, this afternoon he'd go ask her to go for a walk. He knew she'd turn him down, as it wouldn't leave her enough time to get ready.

Once he was sure she was gone, he'd go back and talk to Marilla. He had been in such a rush the first time — so worried he'd lose his chance with Anne when she went home and left him behind in Kingsport — he hadn't done it. This time, he'd do everything right. He wouldn't take any chances.

He'd come back the next day, and they'd walk to Hester Gray's garden. Anne loved it there, and as no one but her frequented the out-of-the-way spot, he knew they'd be alone.

He didn't know exactly what he'd say. The first time he had a little speech planned out, but Anne hadn't even given him the chance to start it. Now he knew he didn't need any special soliloquy; his heart would know what to say and how to tell her of the dream he still held so dear.

Gilbert took a deep breath as Green Gables came into sight. Anne was there, sitting on the old red stone step, a pile of green on her lap, her auburn hair shining in the sunlight.

The first time he'd asked for her hand, he'd been nervous. His heart had known Anne loved him as he loved her, but his brain had tried to tell him to stop and wait. He didn't listen and bitter had been the consequences. But this time, his heart and his brain and every other part of him agreed, and he was confident that this time he was right.

He gazed upon her for a moment, then took a deep breath and walked around the corner of the porch — ready finally to make his dream come true.

"I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through September woods and 'over hills where spices grow,' this afternoon."

…

_And this is where I leave you to return to Anne of the Island and read Chapter XLI: "Love Takes Up The Glass of Time."_

_Thank you for following along and for encouraging me with all your lovely reviews. This has been so much fun! _

_So many of the reviews lately have asked if I'm going to keep going with this, so you may be happy to know I'm already working on a sequel about the first days of Anne and Gilbert's engagement. I should have the first bit posted in a few days._


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